Page 66 of Cackle

“Notice none of them are tall and pointy,” she says.

I did notice.

—

Later that night, after we eat leftover pastries for dinner and drink gin cocktails and read each other poems in the library, I tell Sophie that I’m going to go home, and she doesn’t try to convince me to stay.

“I’ll walk you through the wood,” she says. She puts on a magnificent black feathered coat that she rediscovered in the back of her closet. She tells me that she’s going to make me one to match, even though I express my doubts at being able to pull it off.

We walk in silence for a while, which is unusual for us. We rarely have a substantial lull in conversation.

It begins to get uncomfortable.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask her.

“Just remembering something,” she says. “Something that happened in these woods a long time ago.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She runs her hand along my arm. “Not really. Not a pleasant memory.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie.”

“I’ve come a long way,” she says. “There’s no reason to be sorry for the things that make us better.”

“Yeah. But why do the things that make us better always have to suck so much? Can’t there be a route to self-improvement with—I don’t know—rainbows and cupcakes and, like, sitting on the couch?”

She laughs. “I think so! I believe it’s possible.”

“Good,” I say. “Sign me up for that.”

“Not everything can be easy. Not everything has to be so hard,” she says.

“Yeah.”

The silence rises again, putting space between us. I should let it be, allow it to exist, be content with it. Sam and I used to sit in silence, and it was fine. But something about this quiet I can’t trust. I fear it’ll continue to expand and expand until it swallows the promise of our friendship.

“Do you know those ghosts?” I ask. “In your house? Do you know who they are?”

Sophie sighs, and I know instantly it was the worst thing I could have said.

“No,” she says. “No idea.”

I find that hard to believe. She’s lived in Rowan for hundreds of years. She’s lived in that house for almost a hundred.

“No?” I ask.

“Annie,” she says, “the more thought and energy you give them, the more they’ll appear to you. They’re attracted to that energy. It’s quite similar to your ex-boyfriend. You give him power with your thoughts.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“We can put it in the past now, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says. “I promise, no more ghosts.”

“Okay.”